


Shed your skin and let's get started

by readtolive



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A little bit of angst, A lot of the dialogue is from the film, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Based on the movie Two Weeks' Notice, Blow Jobs, But lovable idiots, Derek Has Feelings, Derek is filthy rich, Derek is ridiculous, I don't think I've ever read a fic with ridiculous Derek, M/M, Romance, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Sorry Not Sorry, Sterek endgame, Stiles has feelings, Stiles is Mother Teresa, With a Sterek twist because Sterek is the best, a lot of fluff, sterek all the way, they are both idiots basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-20 15:53:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13149942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readtolive/pseuds/readtolive
Summary: “No. You’re so smart, and funny, and good, but you walk around with the comforting thought that you’re second-rate and there's nothing you can do. And I never believed it until right now. This minute, Derek. This is the first time in a year that I really don't like you.”“Well. I haven't liked me for longer than that. And I'm not crazy about you right now.”“What?! Derek…”“You know what, Stiles? Where do you come off? Where do you come off?! You make Gandhi look like a used car salesman; you’re too perfect, you’re too wonderful, none of us can keep up with you. You’re intolerable!! No one wants to be preached to. No one wants to live with a saint. Saints are boring!”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Sterek from Teen Wolf and Two Weeks' Notice, and my ridiculous need to see those two idiots in every film I see or a song I hear. 
> 
> I don't own anything.

_***How Stiles’ father bailed Stiles from jail for the twelfth time***_

 

“Sir! Sir! Listen to me. I'm an attorney and this isn't how I argue a case,” Stiles squinted against the sun, trying to look the construction worker in the eyes. It was a bit difficult from where he was perched on top of the wrecking ball, holding onto it for dear life. But this was far from his first rodeo, and he had his lines down pat at least.

“Mr. Stilinski. You're getting on my nerves!” The man boomed under his yellow helmet.

Stiles twitched a little at the name calling; he didn’t think he was THAT popular. He clutched onto the ball even harder in mulish perseverance. “This building has been here for years! It deserves to remain for the community because it represents the ideaIs of that time! The community deserves to have this as a Iandmark! And we're removing it from our children's children. It is something to—“

“This is becoming a problem!” Yellow Helmet growled.

Scott and Kira simultaneously grabbed for Stiles’ butt which started to slip down the massive ball and helped him get down.

Stiles immediately advanced towards the red-faced man and yelled right back at him. “This is a community theater, and everyone should benefit from this building being here!”

“This is your last warning! I’m not gonna tell you again! We got a permit to take down this building!”

“And I have a permit that allows me to gather for the purpose of expressing my constitutionally protected right of free speech!” Stiles screamed at him, waving his papers frantically. He was a mess, his pale blue shirt sweaty and his trousers filthy from climbing the construction vehicles. He couldn’t care less though. He would fight this fight until his last breath. There was nothing Stiles hated more than big corporate companies destroying the beautiful old buildings of his beloved Beacon Hills and turning them into a huge soulless pile of glass… shit.

Yellow Helmet looked like he was one more Stiles’ line away from having a conniption. “You wanna get killed?!”

But Stiles was just getting started. His forehead vein still hadn’t popped. “Sir, according to city code—“

“Forget about your code!”

Stiles waved his arms in punctuation and kept shouting. “If a landmark's committee...”

“Forget about the code, Stilinski!”

“When a landmark's committee decision—“

“You're in violation here! Get out of the way! I’m telling you--”

“Have you ever read the Constitution of the United States?” Stiles screamed.

Yellow Helmet waved at the guy sitting in the cockpit, signaling him to start the machine. “Take it up, Charlie! Watch this constitution,” he sneered at Stiles.

Stiles wasn’t giving up. “Do you even read?” Resorting to insults was justified in this case, he figured.

The wrecking ball started rising from the ground in an awful cacophony of grinding noise. They had a decent audience by now, people watching in amusement or indignation.

Stiles ran back towards pretty freaked out Scott and Kira. “Okay, you guys, this is just a scare tactic. That's all this is. We’ll remain calm and proceed with phase two of our plan.”

Kira watched the huge wrecking ball as it traveled up in the air with a worried look on her pretty face. “Yeah, well, it’s sort of working, Stiles!” She was all for noble causes and helping out their best friend, but the situation was obviously slipping out of control.

“Kira!” Stiles looked at her in hurt shock. “They do productions with little people! The Nutcracker… and Hair… We have to lie down in protest. Take out your mats. Here, I've got your protective eye gear, your sun block and your wet naps. Everybody, lie down in protest!”

Dutifully, and like real champs if Stiles did say so himself, they rolled out their purple yoga mats and plopped on the ground in front of the building. Scott grabbed Kira’s hand and refused to let go. Scott definitely thought that Stiles took the whole thing too far. They’d get arrested, again, and Stiles’ dad would have to bail them out, again, and Scott just… he just closed his eyes and clutched onto his wife’s fingers.

“We will prevail!” Stiles shouted.

“You will go to jail!” someone from the crowd yelled.

“Scott! Lock arms,” Stiles instructed. “Have faith, guys! We will prevail.” He pumped his fist into the air, overly dramatic and childish, but for Stiles, every word he had said and every move he had made came from deep beliefs instilled into him not only by his family, but also by his impeccable Harvard education. He was a fighter for justice and fighting for the rights of the people of Beacon Hills was something he felt he needed and wanted to do, all the way to the marrow of his bones – the fact that even three years after graduating cum laude from Harvard he was still working pro bono for the local Legal Aid office was the evidence of that.

The buzzing and the rumbling of the machines went on for five more minutes, but then Yellow Helmet surrendered. “Shut it down, Charlie,” Stiles heard him say. The noise died down.

“I love the smell of victory this early in the morning!” he shouted cheerfully into the blue skies.

Stiles knew the victory was only temporary, he knew the workers would come the next day to do their jobs or even as soon as he left, but the point had been made.

Stiles realized that he would have to strike at the decision-making, money-grabbing, power-owning center of the problem, which he knew in almost all cases was the notorious Hale Corporation, the bane of Stiles’ existence.

And just when the noise stopped, and Stiles managed to cry out a few more victory lines, the police sirens chirped, announcing their presence.

But Stiles was happy. “There is justice in the world. We prevailed!” He pumped his fist in the air again.

Someone called him a lunatic, but Stiles just didn’t care. Scott and Kira rolled their eyes at him, but they knew the drill. All three of them went to the police car on their own and sat inside before the officer even managed to leave the vehicle.

 

At the police station, his father dropped the act of pretending to be angry with Stiles as soon as they entered his office.

His son offered him an apologetic smile nonetheless. “Sorry, dad. I’ll pay you back this time, I promise.”

John smiled back at him. “Hey, what is father for, if not to bail his son and his friends out of jail?” He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a half eaten sandwich. “Hungry?”

When Stiles shook his head, John started happily munching on it.

“So did they knock it down?” Stiles asked.

John frowned and stopped eating. He didn’t have to say it, Stiles already knew. “I'm not getting through to people, Dad. Why don't people respond to me?”

“Stiles, Hale Corporation is not people, it's a heartless profit machine. And it's getting worse all the time. Look at this,” John pushed a copy of Forbes magazine towards his son.

HALE EXPANDS EMPIRE was written in huge block letters all over its front page, and right under it, in slightly smaller ones, DEREK HALE PLANS A BEACON HILLS CONQUEST. What Stiles presumed was Derek Hale’s ridiculously gorgeous face smiled mockingly at him from the cover.

John continued. “They're bidding on the Surf Avenue lot. They wanna put up condos and tear down the center.”

“Wait a minute! Our community center? MY community center?!” Stiles yelled in outrage. He had his yoga classes there. He read Bingo numbers to the Happy Hills guys and gals there every Thursday evening. He had Sunday brunch with his Dad there on its beautiful wooden sun deck every week.

He was going to END Derek Hale.

John just sighed and threw the rest of his sandwich in the bin. He was so proud of Stiles, but he couldn’t help thinking that it was perhaps his parental duty to just tell him that it was wiser to let go. He looked at the bags under Stiles’ eyes and his wrinkled clothes, a half crazed look on his face, and wondered if it was all worth it. But he knew that trying to convince Stiles to let it go was as effective as eating soup with a fork. “Hey, son. Don’t… don’t worry that much. We’ll figure it out. Come over tonight. Let’s discuss it over dinner.”

“No, Dad, you know what? I'm just tired. I think I'll just go home.”

They both got up from their chairs and John went over to him, enveloping Stiles in a hug. “I love you, son.”

“Love you too, Dad,” Stiles mumbled from where his face was squished against his father’s shoulder. “That was a bacon sandwich. Don’t think I didn’t notice. That’s a fifty dollar fine for you. You can deduce it from my bail money.”

 

_***How Stiles started working for Derek Hale***_

 

Not only did Stiles not _end_ Derek Hale, but he started working for him instead.

When he thought about how it all went down, he still couldn’t exactly retrace all the steps that had led to him getting a job as an attorney in Hale Corporation. He remembered waiting in front of the Hale building all morning just to ambush Derek Hale with his protests against tearing down the community center, he remembered trying to make his point, chattering to his back while Hale strutted towards his limo in a three-piece bespoke suit and he distinctly remembered that the guy, once Stiles had his attention, smiled and checked him out instead of getting angry which Stiles had definitely expected.

Stiles knew that Derek Hale was just a pretty face who was at the head of the company thanks to his good looks and the fact that the real boss, his uncle Peter Hale, hated public exposure and giving speeches. They were the sole owners of Hale Corporation; Derek attended charity balls, gave interviews and slept with his employees on regular basis, apparently; while Peter Hale ran the company, made decisions and pulled the strings. The fact that Derek’s last model/attorney, Debbie, forgot to file an Environmental Impact Report had led to Debbie from St. Bart’s Law School getting fired by Peter, just as he fired Shawn from Online Law School before her and Colton from Saint-Tropez Law School before him.

“I want someone from Yale or Columbia or from the continental United States this time,” Peter had said then, annoyed and contemptuous. “Hire a real attorney by tomorrow.”

“People of that IeveI of intellectual ability often find me shallow,” had been Derek’s flippant response.

Peter had snorted. “You need someone who can write a brief instead of removing yours.”

 

It was all coming back to Stiles now. That was why when Stiles ambushed Derek in front of their building that day and ran after him, their interaction went somewhat like this:

“Mr. Hale? Mr. Hale? Hi, I'm Stiles Stilinski. I'm an attorney.”

“Have you ever heard of Saint-Tropez Law School?”

“Uh, no. No. Can't say that I have.”

“Shame. Where did you go to Iaw school?”

“Harvard.”

“Harvard?”

“Yes.”

“Intriguing. Tell me more. What's your background?”

“I don't see how that's relevant. I work for the Coalition for the Homeless, Legal Defense Fund. Now I'm working at Legal Aid.”

“That can't pay much.”

“Well, I'm not very interested in money. Now, Mr. Hale....”

Hale scratched his perfect jaw line covered in perfect stubble in sudden realization. “Wait a minute. You're Stilinski. You lie in front of our wrecking balls. You attacked the Zegman brothers outside their offices—“

“I did not. It's not my fault they walked under a waving protest sign…”

“You're not here for a job?”

Stiles launched into his spiel. “I'm here representing the Beacon Hills Community Center. It was built in 1922. and it's the heart of Beacon Hills. It has adult education, basketball, CPR, Lamaze, water ballet, seniors’ taekwondo. It's great. For children, it's a home away from home. I mean, I practically grew up there.”

“Look, it's IoveIy, but Trump has the inside track. Nice to meet you.” Derek Hale was ready to go and just leave Stiles there, which was why Stiles doubled his efforts.

“No, Mr. Hale, you don't understand. I live there, as well as my father, he knows Assemblyman Perez, who's on the board. If you can guarantee the preservation of this center, I can guarantee you the build.”

“But why us? Why Hale?"

“Well, I can't get in to see Trump and the Zegman brothers have a restraining order,” Stiles went for full disclosure.

Derek bit his lips and gave him a full elevator look. “I want something else from you.”

“No. I am fully aware of your reputation and there's no way you're getting that. No.”

“Getting what?”

“You know. The sex. That's not gonna happen.”

“No, that would be nice, but what I really mean is, I need a new counsel.”

What. What?! Was he offering Stiles a job? Yeah, right. Like he would ever work for those bloodsuckers.

"Well, I… I think I’d prefer the sex,” Stiles said weakly.

“Okay, if you take the job, I promise to save your community center. On top of which, you can direct our pro bono efforts. That's millions at your charitable disposal.”

“But, you couldn’t possibly want me. I've spent my entire life working against people like you.”

“Well, maybe if you work for me, you'll win occasionally.”

Stiles rolled his eyes hard and let out a long-suffering sigh. Buzz off, Bozo, he wanted to say. Eat my shorts. But he didn’t.

“I need an answer, I'm afraid, immediately. Here is my direct number at the Grand Hotel.”

“You live at a hotel?”

“Well, I own the hotel and I live there. My life is very much like Monopoly. And I know you wouldn't care, but I'll start you at $250.000. There's also usually a very nice Christmas bonus.”

“Uh—“

And that was that. In the end, it was the promise to save the community center that convinced Stiles to take the job, not the ridiculous salary; or Derek Hale’s equally ridiculous watercolor eyes.

 

_***How Derek Hale turned Stiles’ life into a mess***_

 

John and Stiles sat at their table at the community center for their traditional Sunday brunch. The wooden deck overlooked the clearing before the Beacon Hills Preserve, a wonderful piece of greenery and nature’s delights – Stiles observed in quiet joy the children running around and senior citizens playing dominoes and scrabble on the benches scattered throughout the field. It was a beautiful day.

He sat back in his chair, fondly patting his food baby. “I can’t believe how much I ate.”

John chuckled. “The whole left side of the menu, kiddo. I’m proud of you.”

Stiles looked unperturbed. He would never be ashamed of his love for delicious food. “You know when I get tense, I just start to eat.”

“You can’t work for that man, kiddo. He’s – he’s – you’re gonna regret it, I think,” John scratched his chin and bravely tried to find the silver lining. Stiles simply adored him. “Although I could use the bail money, so there’s that. Remember what Sun Tzu said – keep your friends close and your enemies closer. You’re basically infiltrating into enemy’s headquarters.”

“It’s the only way to save the community center, Dad. It is. And if I work for him, I’ll have these huge resources at my disposal, for charities and shelters…”

“Yes, but—“

“Dad. I promise. I will still be your son, and I will still be a lawyer, and I will still have all the same ideals. Promise. I feel… that it’s going to be okay. What’s he gonna do to me, anyway? I’m basically using him. I’m the one who benefits from the situation, in an entirely ethical and morally commendable way. I won’t… try to con him, I’ll just go against the company policy here and there for the greater good. He won’t even notice it. He’s not particularly bright.”

“Really?”

“Really. The man’s an idiot. I don’t know who writes his press releases, which are pretty good – I’ve read them all, to prepare – but it’s definitely not him. His uncle Peter Hale is the mastermind of the company. Derek’s just a mannequin.”

“Well. Just… be careful. And good luck, I guess.”

“Thanks, Dad. You know I don’t believe in luck. Or hotshot GQ models who get to play with people’s lives just because their family left them billions. Oh, and don’t forget to talk with Assemblyman Perez.”

 

Stiles had to buy a few more suits for his new job and definitely pay a visit to a hair salon. Working at Legal Aid didn’t require formal clothing most of the time, so he never really had to give up fully on his casual jeans and semi-decent college shirts. But now… it was a different story completely. He had a part and he had to play up to it.

Hence the three new suits in his closet, which cost him a ridiculous amount of money, the fact which still gave Stiles chest pain, and a dozen new shirts and ties. Ridiculous. But he would rather die than give that… that clown Derek Hale, in his perfect suits on his perfect body, a reason to sneer at him.

It made him feel good, though. It was maybe his second week on the job, and he caught himself enjoying a certain kind of empowerment which the sleek environment and a great, dove grey suit that fitted him like a glove gave him. Stiles blushed with the realization, but he decided to ignore it for the moment. He had business to do – Greenberg was still running after him and taking notes.

“Let’s just generally go through all the files, make sure they’re updated, especially the Municodes, because I’ll need those soon,” Stiles instructed.

Greenberg tried to jot everything down while walking, nodding, and trying not to trip at the same time. When they reached Derek Hale in the hall, Stiles dismissed him. “I’m going to speak with Mr. Hale now.”

Stiles cleared his throat. “Mr. Hale, so sorry to bother. I've been going over the Environmental Impact Reports for Island Towers, and whenever you had a minute, I would really love to talk to you…”

“Very, very good.”

Stiles tried to keep his mental facepalming away from his actual face. The guy was clueless. He had no idea what Stiles was talking about, clearly.

Stiles almost turned around and left, but Hale grabbed his arm. “Do you know what I really wanted to ask you?”

“Hmm?”

Hale brandished two identical envelopes in front of Stiles’ face. “Which one of these do you prefer?”

“Um, how do you mean?” The freaking envelopes were freaking identical.

“It’s for my new personalized stationary.” This was the man responsible for the life and architecture of their city, for carelessly rearranging its face.

Stiles felt his left eye twitching. “Oh. Uh… Is this a trick question? Because they look exactly the same to me.”

“Not at all. This is a linen finish, and this is a watermarked vellum finish,” said Hale, lifting the envelopes in question respectively and looking at Stiles in childlike, innocent expectation.

Stiles frowned. “Leaving aside the fact that they've taken perfectly good forests and denuded them in order to produce this non-recyclable paper, I would say...” he grabbed one of the envelopes and licked it. “Hmmm…” Then he licked the second one. “This one. It tastes better.”

“Do you know…,” said Derek, licking the wretched things himself. Stiles tried not to stare at his tongue. “I’ve asked thirty people that question. You’re the only one to come up with that answer. My god, you’re good! I’m getting you a bigger office.”

Stiles gaped at him, but recovered quickly. “Oh, no, that’s very sweet, but I’d rather go over these files…”

But Derek was already strutting away. What was his life. What WAS his life, Stiles wondered.

 

_***How Derek Hale turned Stiles’ life into an even bigger mess***_

 

In addition to seventy-two working hour weeks, Stiles was also expected to do various, not job related things for Derek which included helping him choose everything from a new mattress for his bed, or his suit and tie for a TV show to a book to read or a show to watch. Derek was spectacularly unable to decide on anything, apparently. It was beyond Stiles’ comprehension how the man had functioned at all before him. He would call him in the middle of the night, with his current hookup sitting right next to him, Stiles presumed, and pestered him with the most ridiculous things.

They did grow a little closer during the few months. Stiles was now embarrassingly familiar with Derek’s suite/apartment at the top of his hotel, and was begrudgingly ready to admit that Derek wasn’t a dunce of epic proportions that Stiles had found him to be. The man had layers, and as Stiles discovered, mostly acted like an idiot to conform to his uncle’s unflattering opinion of him.

Stiles met Peter once or twice, and the man was a snake. Derek’s easygoing attitude was a pure survival mode. It was like he had decided that the bloodthirsty, backstabbing corporate environment, into which he was thrust through no will of his own, was best fought with carefree attitude and diverse sex life.

It was rare to see Derek without a model hanging off of his arm, barely legal, both females and males, he wasn’t picky -- Stiles even had a handy speech for such situations when Derek called him from whatever fancy bar in the middle of the night, wanting to ask him the most random things.

“Can't you talk to whatever Mensa candidate you're with?”

“I resent the implication that because someone may not share your high IQ they're not a person of substance and depth.”

Stiles yawned and scratched his belly. “Remind me to book you an STI testing. Is it a he or a she?”

“What? It’s a she. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Okay, Derek, I am tired. Put her on the phone.”

“What do you mean, put her on the phone?”

“Put her on the phone!”

“All right.” Derek could never say no to him. He passed his phone to a confused looking girl in a skimpy dress. “Someone for you.”

As soon as she uttered a slightly slurred Hi, Stiles launched into his tried and tested tirade. “The man you're dancing with is deeply troubled, okay? And even though he's rich and ridiculously attractive, you're much too young to trade yourself like a stock on NASDAQ for someone who won't be remembering your name, or his, in the morning, has recently had a very suspicious rash and is still married. It’s after midnight. Go home, finish high school and reach your potential!”

“I think I'm gonna go,” the girl gave Derek a filthy look and sauntered away.

Derek didn’t even pretend he was sorry, or mad at Stiles for that matter. He grinned from ear to ear. “What did you say to her? Nice chat?”

“Yes. She seemed very special.”

“I hope you didn’t tell I was married to this one, too. It’s devastating for my reputation. Come to think of it, I can’t believe anyone would buy that. Me, married…” Derek huffed. “I have never had a relationship, let alone marriage.”

“And why is that, Derek?”

“I don’t believe in marriages. Love. That sort of thing.”

“All right,” Stiles yawned again. “Good for you.”

“I think the rash story is enough for chasing away my potential hookups from now on, don’t you think?”

“Please. Like that would stop the profile you’re usually after.”

“Well, it’s working, isn’t it. She left.”

“Look, Derek… I have to get up early in the morning, so I have to go. Stop pestering me. You really have to stop calling me in the middle of the night.”

“Don’t be like that, Stiles. It’s embarrassing how much I need you. You have to understand.”

“You’re pathetic. Go home, Derek. Just… Good night. ”

“Sweet dreams, Stiles,” Derek murmured into his phone.

He was driving Stiles up the wall.

 

A few days later, a pissed off Stiles was in the middle of a store, with Derek rifling through belts and ties and other men’s accessories, stacking whatever he found on Stiles to be decided upon later. “Perhaps you could find me a new girlfriend. Or boyfriend. Isn’t it a brilliant idea? That way you wouldn’t chase them away and I wouldn’t be in a constant state of horniness. Look at this belt. Too ornate?” Derek actually giggled. He GIGGLED. Stiles wouldn’t even dignify that with a reply. “We could go out together. You could pretend to be my celibate brother. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

“I’m a lawyer, Derek.”

“Yeah, I know! You’re the best lawyer in the world!” Derek said that with such conviction that Stiles felt a little embarrassed.

It didn’t prevent him from still being pissed, though. “Thank you for the compliment, but Harvard doesn’t give a degree in Yenta! I’m not here to find you a fuck or to pick out your clothes, Derek. My heroes are Clarence Darrow, Thurgood Marshall, Ruth Ginsburg… Who’s another non-scummy lawyer… Oh, my mother! She worked for Martin Luther King, my father’s the sheriff, and they both taught me that lawyers should be treated with respect!”

“I have complete respect for you!” Derek said, all wide-eyed and innocent. “R-E-S-P-E-C-T.”

That was it. Stiles turned around on his heels and stormed out.

“Stiles. Stiles! Wait! I still don’t know which belt to buy!”

 

_***How Stiles quit his job***_

 

Deep down, Stiles really understood that Derek wasn’t what he pretended to be.

A few times when they were working together on some cases, he was pleasantly surprised with Derek’s knowledge of law and other business matters. At those moments, when they were alone, Derek would unconsciously drop the empty-headed gorgeous billionaire façade and peruse the files together with Stiles, nibbling on his pencil and murmuring into his chin. They would make lots of coffee and turn off their phones, and the atmosphere was so different from their usual rapport that during their occasional breaks from work, they chatted almost like they were friends.

Stiles even shared some private details of his life with Derek, things about his mother and other heavily-guarded bits of his personal life. And he felt fine about it, relaxed and happy. He saw Derek’s eyes shine warmly when he talked about Claudia, with an understanding smile on his face.

“My whole family’s gone,” Derek said, chuckling lightly. Stiles knew that, but they had never talked about it before. The lightness with which Derek said it suddenly made some things much clearer. It was a defense mechanism of sorts, Stiles realized. “It’s just Peter and me. And the company. It’s been hard not to go mad, or suicidal… let the darkness swallow you. So I decided just to have fun. What else is there? Really. I don’t know.”

Stiles stared at his manly face until he couldn’t anymore.

But such moments were too random and too rare. Soon enough, Derek would drive him insane with his frivolous behavior, and Stiles knew, he KNEW, that Derek called him Mother Teresa behind his back. Greenberg told him. Derek was mocking him, and to Stiles’ indignation, it hurt.

He went back to his dingy one bedroom apartment that night, ordered massive amounts of Chinese for one, and sulked. He should really quit. His father was right. He shouldn’t have accepted the job in the first place. Derek and he were worlds apart, in every possible sense.

After devouring his dinner and binge watching Stranger Things on Netflix, Stiles fell into a comatose sleep.

His phone woke him up at two. “Derek,” he croaked. “What's wrong? Don't tell me that the construction permits didn't come through because I had the application into the Zoning Committee by 9 AM…”

“Stiles, it’s an emergency.”

“Yes, yes, I‘m here. I’m awake.” He tried to disentangle himself from the couch cushions without falling down.

“I’m judging the Miss Beacon Hills contest tomorrow. It’s on television. What should I wear?”

“Derek… Don’t tell me you called me in the middle of the night to help you pick out a suit, please!”

“Oh. Were you sleeping? Why didn’t you say?”

“You said it was an emergency! Didn’t I memo you as to what constitutes an emergency?”

“Yes. Large meteor, severe loss of blood, and what’s the third one again?”

“Death, Derek. Death. And you’re not dead. Just like you weren’t dead when you dragged me away from my best friend’s birthday party just because you had a nightmare about becoming a seventh member of Pussycat Dolls. Just like you weren’t dead when you barged in on my urologist appointment to ask me which picture to put on the cover of People magazine.”

“Sorry.” Derek said sheepishly. He did sound a little bit apologetic, which was refreshing. “Look, if it’s any consolation, I will be dead, eventually. Tomorrow is important; I’m representing the Hale organization. And that includes you.”

Stiles was silent for a moment. He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the first signs of headache creeping in. “Not anymore, Derek.”

“Sorry?”

“You got Island Towers, I got the community center. Why don't we just call it quits, okay? I can't take it anymore.”

“What, are you serious?”

“Yes. Please, consider this my two weeks' notice.”

There was a pause. Stiles had no idea how Derek would react. He was under the impression that he had gotten overly attached to Stiles. There might be tears. Or begging. Stiles wouldn’t put it beyond him.

“I find you extremely ungrateful,” Derek chirped.

So the jokester was back, Stiles thought bitterly. “Ungrateful?!”

“Yes, ungrateful! Yes! I hire you with no corporate experience. I give you an apartment, a great office, the nonfat muffin basket every morning…”

“Derek!”

“If you don’t want to be disturbed, why do you keep your phone on? Because you like emergencies. You crave the excitement.”

“Derek… Just stop it, will you? I’m sorry. I feel really weird about all this. It’s not like you can’t find another person for the job. There are millions of attorneys out there. This has nothing to do with you. This is entirely my thing and I’m not even being sarcastic right now. I just can’t do it anymore, because I've managed to turn myself into this… this—I don’t even have a name for it, and, and I don’t even know what I want anymore…”

“It's not like I'm enjoying it either!” Derek shouted. “Before you came into my life, I was capable of making all kinds of decisions. Now I can't! I'm addicted. I have to know what you think.”

“Derek, you know that’s not true. You’re perfectly capable of making decisions. You just… rely too much on me.”

“See? See? I do rely on you. You can’t ignore that. It’s a fact. You just said it. If you leave, I’ll become… unreliable.”

“You’re joking, right? You’re being selfish now. Sometimes you can be the most selfish person on the planet.”

“Now that’s just silly. Have you met everyone on the planet?”

“Goodbye, Derek,” Stiles said and ended the call. He was doing the right thing. He was.

He couldn’t even recognize himself anymore. He was turning into Derek, strutting through the hallways and offices of the truly impressive Hale building and ordering people around. Yesterday, he saw Jameson from Finances hide behind the water cooler when he saw Stiles coming. The delivery guy burst into tears once when he got Stiles’ order wrong. It hadn’t been Stiles’ fault, though. It was the suit, the position, the company. Admittedly, Stiles did have a strictly professional relationship towards his job, always deadly serious and accurate, which was a far cry from Derek’s diva attitude. People feared Derek a little, too, but Stiles thought it was because of his position, money and preternaturally good looks. It certainly wasn’t because of his charming personality.

Also, his relationship with Derek became something which Stiles couldn’t even explain. It was definitely too friendly, too unprofessional for Stiles’ taste, and he didn’t have the slightest idea what it was in him that made Derek seek him out around the clock, basically. It wasn’t like Derek ever tried anything inappropriate and Stiles was pleasantly surprised, given the man’s Casanova reputation. It took Stiles a while to realize that the reason why Derek kept checking him out when they met, and why he ultimately hired him, besides his Harvard degree of course, was the fact that he didn’t want to fuck him. Both Stiles’ education and his ultimate unfuckability were what Derek needed to end his disastrous streak with attorneys, Stiles figured.

Not that Stile minded, of course. He had a plan. He would set up interviews with law firms that do pro bono work and he had no doubt that he would get a new job in seconds. Meanwhile, he would find a new attorney for the Hale Corporation, train them, and then say his goodbyes in a civilized manner.

Stiles couldn’t possibly know then that all his plans would spectacularly fall through.

 

_***How Stiles tried to get a new job***_

 

 **Interview #1**. Lowell, Hanes and Richards.

“I’m really looking forward to a new challenge and your firm has always had the optimal blend of public and private-interest law.”

“Stiles, your resume is amazing, you know that. But we do a lot of business with Hale.”

“All the more reason for me to make a smooth transition, don’t you think?”

“Stiles… Derek Hale called me this morning and informed me that you are indispensable to his organization.”

 

 **Interview #2**. Turner Construction.

“At the moment, we’re not hiring.”

“Then why did you agree to see me?”

“Honestly, we’re partners with Zodiac Construction –“

“Ah. And they do millions in business with Hale Realty.”

“And Mr. Hale—“

“Doesn’t want you to hire me.”

 

 **Interview #3**. Bechtel Corporation.

“The attorney who was planning to quit reconsidered. I’m sorry, Mr. Stilinski.“

“When did Mr. Hale call?”

“Mr. Hale never called.”

“When?”

“Maybe an hour ago.”

 

This was the lowest of Stiles’ lows. There was no point in going to two more appointments he had scheduled.

He briefly considered going to see Derek and yell at his face for an hour, but he honestly doubted there was any point in that as well. He stood motionless on the street, not seeing the people milling around, not seeing anything really. He was probably in shock. He grabbed his phone. He didn’t say anything in greeting.

“Hey, Stiles,” Derek drawled on the other end. “How are your interviews going? Any luck?”

“Hey, Derek. Where are you?” Stiles’ voice was deceptively pleasant.

“I’m having my massage. You know how it is. Gotta keep the skin smooth, the knots unknotted! There’s this oriental oil that really relaxes me.”

“Make sure they massage your cIoven hoof!” Stiles was mad, he really was, but for some reason, he was smiling. He had no idea why. Derek was so confusing.

“I'm suddenly feeling a pain in my ass,” Derek retorted.

“I am unemployable!" Stiles shouted. "You called everyone except for Slurpee Heaven!”

“That is not true. I did call Slurpee Heaven. They didn't want you. Heard you had attitude. Said you weren't Slurpee material.”

“Derek…”

“All right, listen. You have a contract and it says you will work until Island Towers is finalized. Which I interpret is completion of construction, or I can stop you working elsewhere. And there are no loopholes because you drafted it and you're the best. Subconsciously, I think you drafted it that way because you don't really want to go. Does it kill you how well I know you?”

“Yeah. Well. Maybe you’re right. I don’t know, Derek. I just don’t know.”

“Don’t worry, Stiles. Remember? Just have fun.”

“I can’t, Derek. I can’t.” Stiles clutched onto his phone and stared blindly at the pavement.

“Yes, you can. Come here, let the girls work on you, let’s have a massage together.”

Stiles smiled at that. “I don’t like to be touched. See you tomorrow, all right.”

 

He went to his father instead. He desperately needed a voice of reason. And some hugs.

“Kiddo, this contract is excellent work. I'm very proud of you.”

Stiles groaned, banging his head against his father’s office desk. “Dad, I'm trying to get out of it.”

John removed some valuables from the desk in the face of Stiles’ frustration and bopped his leg, clearly annoyed. “I don't know why you went to work for that philandering robber baron. You usually have impeccable instincts. Remember that boyfriend of yours, Danny? He was a dedicated environmental warrior. This is ironclad. Houdini couldn’t get out of this contract. You should’ve stayed at the Legal Aid job.”

Stiles gave his father an unimpressed glare. “Really, Dad? How’s that helpful?”

“Stiles, it was your choice to work for that man. You could’ve done anything. You could’ve clerked for the Supreme Court. I don't know what to tell you. Short of going in and deliberately trying to get fired.”

Stiles raised his head, suddenly on alert. Deliberately trying to get fired. _Deliberately trying to get fired_.

He jumped up, went around the desk and hugged his old man. “Dad, you’re my hero! I love you. You’re the best!”

“Hey, where are you going?” John asked his son’s retreating back, who went for the door like the wind. “Stiles! What did I say? I don’t know what I said!”

 

_***How Stiles tried to get himself fired***_

 

On his way to the Hale Corporation the following morning, Stiles dropped by the kiosk and bought several packets of cinnamon flavored chewing gum. Derek hated cinnamon. Stiles could practically hear his own devilish laughter which would put Joker to shame inside his head. He was a man with a wicked plan, so there was a particularly bouncy pep to his step when he went through the front door of the Hale building. Life was good.

In the elevator, he shoved five sticks of the gum into his mouth, nearly dislocating his jaw until they softened up. He was wearing his too small pink shirt, wrinkled and arguably clean, and the rattiest pair of jeans he could dig up from his closet. He banged open Derek’s office door, without knocking, to the stunned looks of Derek and Peter Hale.

“Oops. Sorry I’m so late.” He threw himself onto the leather couch next to Derek, and spread his legs wide. His shirt rode up his stomach, revealing an indecent amount of skin.

“That’s fine. We just got here,” Derek offered benevolently, blinking at Stiles like an owl.

But Peter smirked meanly. “Forty-five minutes ago.”

“Hmmm,” was Stiles’ only comment, if you don’t count the obnoxious chewing. “Aw, Pete, is this you?” Stiles asked, looking at the framed photo on the table. “You’re a real looker, aren’t you? Look at you.”

Derek bit his lips, trying to hide his smile. “That’s… that’s Peter’s fiancée.”

“Right, right. You know, I’ve never actually met him. He must have a great personality.”

Derek had to remove his hand from his mouth, holding his laughter in. “That would be a she. Jessica. Wonderful woman.”

Peter had obviously had enough because he grabbed the photo from Stiles and put it above the fireplace. If his look could kill, Stiles would be a dead man; but Peter just ground his teeth and tried to start talking business. “So, we’ve got the Island Towers project, and I’d like to stir up some publicity, if we could…”

Stiles popped a bubble then, and the gum flew right under Peter Hale’s shoe like a missile. “Huh! Look at that! I didn’t think it was even possible. I feel so accomplished right now,” Stiles giggled, and he distinctly heard Derek chuckling next to him.

Peter was green in the face by now, looking at both Derek and Stiles like they were the sorriest excuses for human beings on the planet. Stiles just grinned, waiting patiently to see who would snap first.

“Are you sure you went to Harvard?” Peter hissed.

“Yep. That would be Haarvard, double ‘a’, in Poughkeepsie,” Stiles said proudly. He was dying to know who would throw him out of the office first, the nephew or the uncle, preferably firing him before that. His bets were on Peter, since Derek looked like he was having fun.

Peter’s head pinged from Derek to Stiles and back, clearly plotting their demise.

Peter sat in the armchair and tried to scrap the gum off his shoe. “I’m working on endorsements from local merchants. Any thoughts, Derek?” Peter growled.

But Derek was clueless, of course. He looked at Stiles, signaling him to take over. “Yes. Um, we were working on some ideas there. Stiles, if you could…”

But Stiles slipped even more down the couch, scratching his belly. He grinned idiotically at Derek. “Hiya.”

“Right. Well. Peter, could you excuse us, please?”

Derek grabbed Stiles by the arm, and dragged him outside the office. He pushed him down an empty hallway until they reached a little secluded corner, and then honed in on Stiles. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What. I thought that was a terrific meeting. We should have more meetings like that.”

“Pathetic, Stiles.”

“What’s pathetic?”

“You. You’re pathetic. I know what you’re doing.”

“I am not doing anything.”

“You think if you stop doing your work, come in late, looking like a rent boy, and spit on your boss, that’s gonna get you fired? Let me tell you something. Not in this company.”

So Stiles dropped the act. “Derek. I have an ulcer. I don’t sleep well, mostly because you keep calling me, and if you don’t call me in the middle of the night, I dream that you’re going to call me. I think about you in the shower, NOT in a good way, but in a I’m-so-distracted-I-can’t-remember-if-I-washed-my-hair kind of way, so I wash my hair five times. So I have a hole in my stomach, I’m running out of shampoo, and today is the first time in my life that I didn’t give a thousand percent on the job and I hate that feeling.”

At this point, Derek had a deep, worried frown on his face. “I won’t call after hours.”

Stiles’ heart skipped traitorously. “You will, Derek, you know you will.”

“Yeah. Yeah,” Derek said, sounding a little lost.

“I just don’t think we can see each other professionally anymore,” Stiles said, feeling like shit. He must be coming down with something, what with all the stress and everything.

“I just don’t realize why.”

They looked at each other in silence.

“All right,” Derek sighed, caving in. “Stay until you find a replacement, train them up for a couple of weeks. Then you can go to Slurpee Heaven.”

Stiles laughed in relief. “Thank you, thank you! I promise I will find you somebody amazing, somebody better than me, because I’m not even any good.”

Derek smiled. “No.”

Stiles couldn’t help it, it was pure instinct, and he threw his arms around Derek. He hugged him back immediately, easy and nonchalant, like it was nothing, and they just stood there, situation getting more awkward with every passing second. Derek was an exquisite hugger, Stiles’ brain unhelpfully provided. He sniffed a little, pressing his chin against Derek’s shoulder.

“Hey, could you do something for me? Go through this speech for the charity ball? It’s important,” Derek said somewhere around Stiles’ left ear.

Stiles huffed. “Why don’t you give it to one of the many slaves who write them for you?”

“What? No. Jesus, Stiles. I write them myself. And I don’t have slaves. Well, except maybe Greenberg.”

“You write your own speeches?” Stiles’ voice suddenly sounded tiny even to his own ears.

“Yep.”

Stiles had read all Derek’s speeches. They were so great that Stiles wouldn’t change a single word; sometimes he felt like he wrote them himself. Inspired, eloquent, and based on the ideals Stiles believed in – yes, he really loved Derek’s speeches. “They’re excellent. Excellent speeches.”

It was a little weird that they were still hugging, but Stiles thought that, since in two weeks’ time the only place where he would be seeing Derek’s face were magazine covers and random TV shows, it was kind of all right.

 

_***How Derek met Stiles’ father***_

 

And thus Stiles’ two weeks’ notice time commenced. They were at the Island Towers construction site, overseeing the works, having some photos taken for the press and giving interviews for local television stations – Derek, that was, not Stiles. Stiles mostly tried to stay out of the way and not die from an accidental brick in the head, protective helmet notwithstanding. So, when he saw his father lurking next to the security wire, Stiles happily trotted over to him.

“Hey, Dad. Are you on your lunch break?”

But his father was looking somewhere behind him, and Stiles just managed to turn in time to see Derek approaching them with a big smile on his face. “What a wonderful surprise! We finally meet after all this time. Derek Hale. Mr. Stilinski, I presume. What a pleasure.”

Stiles could see on his father’s face that he did not expect that, this _laissez-faire_ casualness, and an aura of a _bon vivant_ surrounding Derek like halo. It wasn’t like Stiles didn’t want them to meet, he was completely indifferent to the possibility and now the reality of it; it was just that for his entire life his father, and his mother before, had been this voice pushing him to do better, to challenge the accepted wisdom, never to settle for a B instead of an A on a test – not that Stiles had ever gotten a B – and it was pretty hard to live up to their expectations; and Derek, Derek was something new in his life. A new, different voice. Stiles was having difficulties bringing those voices together.

Derek stood next to Stiles, gorgeous and imposing, and Stiles suddenly felt very small. Derek was the epitome of everything they were supposed to be fighting against, which Stiles was reminded of acutely by the very presence of his father, and yet, there was Stiles, actually liking the man. He was funny, he was smart, and he was disarmingly vulnerable – the fact obvious to Stiles, but luckily hardly anyone else. Stiles was so lucky that Derek was letting him go; otherwise, the whole situation was bound to end up in a disaster. If he survived this particular encounter, that was.

Stiles’ two worlds were colliding before his very eyes right now. 

"I'm John. It's a pleasure to meet you,” clearly intrigued, his father was smiling benevolently.

“Thanks, John. Same here.”

“Thank you for letting Stiles quit. It certainly made my week.”

“Great pleasure.”

“We should probably get back to the office,” Stiles said, interrupting their little repartee. They met, they chatted, what else there was. It was time to end this apocalypse in the making.

But both Derek and his father ignored him.

Derek continued as if Stiles hadn’t said anything. “Stiles tells me you live around here? What a charming coincidence.”

“It won't be charming once you block out the sun with this condo-hotel monstrosity,” John said directly, never having been the one to miss an opportunity to voice his opinion. Stiles winced, even though he completely agreed with John.

“We will have a sun deck, so… That's something, isn't it?” Derek said a bit contritely. Both John and Stiles gave him a stone cold glare, but Derek simply continued, unperturbed. “John, I can't tell you how much I appreciate your support on this project.”

“At least you're keeping the community center. Unless you're willing to reconsider the entire project.”

“I'm afraid that won't happen. It is over fifty million in profits.”

“Nothing personal, but I think it's immoral that any human being should acquire that much wealth. I don't know how you sleep at night.”

“Well, I have a machine that simulates the sound of the ocean.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles yelled, flailing. “Would you stop it, you two? What’s wrong with you? Let’s… not talk anymore, okay. Dad, just… go back to work, and Derek, just stop it, will you? You’re giving me a headache.”

Both men looked at Stiles with worried expressions on their faces, and then, with freakishly identical tones and completely simultaneously, asked Stiles if he was okay. And this was Stiles’ cue to go. Which he did. He turned his back on his father and his boss, and just walked away. It had been a completely right decision. What were they thinking, were they trying to give Stiles a heart attack?

 

_***How Stiles became the green-eyed monster***_

 

After the first two disastrous interviews with candidates for Stiles’ replacement, where Derek basically managed to insult the candidates, their families, Stiles and the president of the United States at the same time, it was agreed upon by both of them that it would be for the best if Stiles conducted the interviews alone.

“What do you want? Can you give me some directions?” Stiles asked him over lunch at a nearby restaurant, while Derek was putting the ice from his glass into Stiles’ and Stiles was dumping the olives from his plate onto Derek’s. “Harry Raskin, Richard Beck, Polly St. Clair… Let’s see… Oh, Emily Kelly, from Yale. There are some interesting prospects for my replacement.”

Derek took the beet from Stiles’ plate. “I want someone as intelligent as you are, but possibly a little less tense and argumentative. Although I do love it when we bicker. Also, someone I can trust completely, like you. It would have to be someone I can rely on, you know, like you, and funny, too – not that you’re deliberately funny. And also attractive.”

“Attractive?” Stiles clung to the last word as if it were his only salvation from dying from complete embarrassment. He knew that Derek had a good opinion of him, but not that good; so he desperately focused on the least relevant part. “What a surprise. I suppose a certain bust size would help. Maybe some bathing suit shots?”

Derek chewed on his bread stick. “It will annoy Peter more if it’s someone hot.”

“Oh.”

“You really shouldn’t skip on the beet, it’s good for your blood.”

 

So it happened that not three days later, Stiles found the most perfect candidate. Lydia Martin, a strawberry blonde goddess, hot and sharp as a razor, walked into his office one day in her six-inch stilettos and swiped him off his proverbial feet.

Her resume stated that she had also gone to Harvard, and even though she didn’t have a strong background in property law, Stiles was impressed. He immediately knew she was the one he wanted.

She didn’t really have an appointment, so it was Greenberg who walked her into the office, introduced her and asked for just five minutes of Stiles’ time.

“I know I don’t have an appointment, so feel free to throw me out,” she said, and even though her words might be interpreted as modest, they were directly opposite from her body language, which was confident and graceful. There was also something dangerous about her and she looked ridiculously intimidating, in all of her five-foot-two glory. Stiles liked her.

She raised her brow and offered him her manicured hand.

“Well, I have security on standby,” Stiles joked. “Have a seat, please.”

“Thanks,” she said primly, perching herself elegantly on the chair.

“Did you have Criminal with Professor Rappaport?”

“Oh, my God! I’m still shaking. But I have to tell you, Mr. Stilinski, you’re a legend there. Editor of the Law Review. Those articles you wrote on the Richmond case. You're an inspiration to a lot of us.”

Oh, she was good, Stiles thought. Buttering him up from the get-go. “Well, yeah, I…”

“I don't have a strong background in property, but neither did you and look what you've accomplished.”

She was a _shark_. Pointing out herself the gaps in her resume and then using Stiles as living proof that one could do this job well without them – it was brilliant.

“And also this,” she was unstoppable. “Obviously, I’ve never met Mr. Hale, but in Public Policy magazine he was interviewed about the challenges of urban development and he said that, quote, ‘When I think about how architecture can shape a community and turn strangers into neighbors, how the right design for a park makes people feel secure, how a school building can be functional and beautiful so kids feel engaged instead of imprisoned….’ When I read that, it made me feel like I’d be working for a cause, not just a company.”

Stiles’ eyes glazed over. It was their speech. No, it was really Derek’s speech that he had asked Stiles to help him with, but mostly it was all Derek. Stiles loved it. “Actually… actually…”

“Actually,” Derek’s voice supplied from the office door. “Stiles helped me write that speech. You’re also hired.”

And that was it. From the moment Derek entered the office, Stiles was dead to her. Everything about her shifted - her body language, her tone, her face, and she turned into this seductress in matters of seconds. She stood up, tossed her gorgeous hair behind, and let the words drip from her full lips like honey. “Mr. Hale,” she purred. It was obvious to Stiles that she was fully aware of Derek’s reputation. “How presumptuous of me to come waltzing in here. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all. Stiles, I’ve got it from here.”

“But…”

“They’re calling you from the Zoning Commission. Go.”

So Stiles went. It was good. Everything was good. He had obviously found what both Derek and he were looking for.

 

That evening, he called Derek. “So, what did you think of Lydia?”

“Loved her. Loved her.”

“Great. Yeah, me too.”

“Yeah. She smiled obsequiously, flattered me constantly. She'd have no problem picking out an ottoman. Exactly what I'm looking for.”

“A tad weak on the experience side, but—“ Stiles tried.

“We went out for a drink, talked for an hour. She's a very clever girl, you know. Sharp.”

“So you guys went out for a drink?”

“Mm-hm. And she’s got nowhere to stay at the moment, so I found her a room at the Grand. And I invited her to the company outing. Turns out she's a useful tennis player.”

“Well, I can swing a racket.”

“Yes, I know, at my head. I've experienced it. But listen, thanks to you for finding her. Genius.”

Stiles was pathetic. Pathetic. He chucked his phone once their conversation ended, and threw himself at the couch, repeatedly. Uh! He was so angry, and he had no idea why or at whom. He was also sad; he could literally feel the sadness squeezing around his heart like a vise. He stared at the flowery wallpaper on the walls of his tiny kitchen which he still hadn’t gotten around to taking down, and thought about his life choices. They were good. As a matter of fact, they were excellent life choices. Then why the hell was he feeling the way he did? Urgh! He should order some Chinese, because on top of everything, he was also starving. Mentally, he prepared himself for ordering a bunch of food for one once again and enduring the laughing voice on the other side of the line. Because they were clearly laughing at him. Stiles knew. He knew it. He was the laughing stock of a girl who took orders for minimum wage in his favorite Chinese restaurant.

 

_***How Stiles’ heart got broken***_

 

The final blow to Stiles’ delicate heart came from Lydia, of all people - not that he wasn’t expecting it.

Actually, no -- it came from Peter Hale first, who was the mastermind behind the decision and it was only delivered by Lydia. She was just the messenger.

But honestly, it was Derek’s entire involvement with the case that was truly heartbreaking.

When Stiles thought about it, he mostly tried to figure out where he had gone wrong. He was surprised by no one, no one. Except by himself, that was.

Lydia’s backstabbing words to him went like this: “Peter wants me to revise the Island Towers proposal, now that we’re tearing down the community center. I could really use your help with that.”

They were tearing down the community center. _They were tearing down the community center_.

Stiles went through Peter’s files later, because he needed to know. _New estimates on Island Towers have arrived… Costs are skyrocketing… Cheaper to knock down the community center_ …. A lot of corporate, thirsty for cash bullshit.

Derek’s traitorous words after he had confronted him went like this: “Look, I know what you’re going to say, but I’ve just spent half the night arguing with Peter…”

“I don’t care about Peter! Why can’t you say no to him, huh?” Stiles screamed at him. “All I care about is you, your word and the community center.”

“It’s not the end of the world, Stiles. We do give millions to your charities. I’m sorry. I can’t control the economy, I can’t control my uncle, and I’m just human.”

“I can’t believe how easy you’re being on yourself. You promised, Derek! You promised. Since when is helping people and telling the truth mutually exclusive?!”

“It's frankly none of your business, is it, Stiles? You don't work here anymore!”

Stiles’ eyes started to burn. He wasn’t going to cry, he fucking wasn’t. He desperately wanted to leave, to turn around and never come back. If he never saw these offices again, it would be too soon. But there was Derek, and he cared about him. He did. So he stayed. “I cannot believe you won't even try to be the person you could be.”

“This is the person I could be,” Derek spread his arms in false casualness, but Stiles could see that he was tense and coiled as a spring. He knew every muscle on his face and every gesture by now.

“No. You’re so smart, and funny, and good, but you walk around with the comforting thought that you’re second-rate and there's nothing you can do. And I never believed it until right now. This minute, Derek. This is the first time in a year that I really don't like you.”

“Well. I haven't liked me for longer than that. And I'm not crazy about you right now.”

“What?! Derek…”

“You know what, Stiles? Where do you come off? Where do you come off?! You make Gandhi look like a used car salesman; you’re too perfect, you’re too wonderful, none of us can keep up with you. You’re intolerable!! No one wants to be preached to. No one wants to live with a saint. Saints are boring!”

 _Boring… Intolerable… No one wants you…_ Derek’s words swirled inside Stiles’ head like matrix, clinical and meaningless, little linguistic ping pongs; and they didn’t hurt. When they left Derek’s mouth, Stiles thought they were cold knives, but they weren’t now that they were inside him. They were just all he could see at this moment. He was blind. He couldn’t see Derek, he couldn’t see the door, and he wasn’t sure how he found his way out of the room. He needed to leave.

He went down the hallway, touching the wall, until he reached the toilets. He fished out his phone from his pocket. “Scotty… Are you home? … Yeah, I’m at the office… Can you come pick me up, please?”

He didn’t want to talk with anybody. Scott understood that, and that was why he was Stiles’ best friend after all. Stiles was going to go home, take a few days off to regroup, and go on with his life as if he had never set his eyes on Derek Hale in his life.

***


	2. Chapter 2

_***How Stiles ‘regrouped’***_

 

This wasn’t the first time that Stiles was going through a spectacularly shitty period in his life.

The upside of that charming fact was that he knew the process and he was all too familiar with its symptoms, making them a little easier to cope with – the despair, the lack of motivation for anything, no vitality, no will to do anything, not even play CoD until his fingers started to cramp.

He would wake up, his consciousness bringing him to the world of the living in slow increments, but then, every bad memory would suddenly flood over him at the same time, suffocating and unbearable, waking him cruelly in an instant. It was difficult to breathe then, but since Stiles was an experienced sufferer -- he knew how to push through it.

He mainly waited for the bad, bad feelings to go away, or at least ease up.

Meanwhile, he allowed himself to just wallow in his misery, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, wondering how long this thing would last this time, whether it would take a few days, weeks or months.

Getting up and taking a shower seemed like climbing Annapurna, and Stiles let himself get all gross and sticky, just like a true mountaineer. Except, the only thing he was climbing was his bed.

He loved his apartment, which was a pretty weird fact since it was so small and shabby that no one would probably believe him. But he truly did. His couch was ratty and worn out, but incredibly comfortable; his walls were covered in holes and stains, but Stiles thought they had character; and his kitchen wallpaper was covered in pale blue lily pads, but Stiles liked it, since they reminded him of the old lady who had lived there before him. And what little space Stiles had at his disposal was made into even less space by his bike which was hung on the hallway wall and a truly astounding number of books and various knickknacks that Stiles had the habit of leaving everywhere.

Anyway, he loved spending time there. He loved being alone, having his own space to decompress after busy days, and even though he had never lived with anyone after moving out from his father’s house, he was absolutely certain that he would not like sharing his space and private time. Especially in the current situation – he was miserable, and he wanted to lick his wounds alone.

That was why he mostly stayed at home, in this post community center, post Derek Hale meltdown. Scott would come occasionally, with Kira or alone, and they would shoot some zombies and not talk about Stiles’ life, because that way madness lay. Kira had tried once to ask Stiles about his feelings, but that ended up with Stiles staring at the wall and refusing to talk to her for hours.

Stiles had no feelings. He just needed to regroup. He would be up and about very soon.

 

His father came to see him somewhere in the middle of Stiles’ ‘regrouping’ week.

“Have you looked yourself in the mirror lately? Jesus, kiddo. You look like a mummy. Get dressed.”

Stiles sniffed and wrapped his favorite blanket firmly around his shoulders. “Good morning to you, too, father o’ mine.”

“Get dressed,” John repeated. “We have some protesting to do at the community center.”

They went to the little kitchen together where Stiles continued eating his breakfast of cereal and cold milk. “I’m not going.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Dad, I cannot stand to watch another building get knocked down.”

John poured himself some soy milk. “Hey, we didn’t raise you to sit on the sidelines. Ever since you were a little boy you fought for what you believed in. You were on the White House Enemies List at five.”

“I’m not sitting on the sidelines, I’m going to look for a job. And what’s the point, the man’s not going to listen. Besides… you know, he said some things to me that were just so… so… true,” Stiles shook his head morosely.

John sighed. “Really? What did he say?”

Stiles snorted. “That I’m boring. Basically… that I’m boring him with my… my moralizing… and righteousness… that I’m intolerable, and – I mean, he didn’t say it like that, he didn’t use those words. He did say that I was a saint and that I was boring. And, you know what, he might be right, Dad. I really can be… difficult.”

“Hey! That’s not true and you know it.”

Stiles smiled sadly. “I know nothing, Dad. I’ve been stewing in my own filth for days, and just… thinking, but I’m not getting any smarter.”

“What do you mean? You’re the smartest person I know.”

“It’s just… I know nothing about things that… also matter.”

“What things that matter?” John had no idea what Stiles was talking about.

“Things like… like… Derek. I mean… he also matters. We -- we were friends, and now… we’re not anymore. I just think that he was maybe right, you know. Maybe I could be more flexible. Look at things differently.”

Stiles could see the light bulbs going off in his father’s brain. He was completely aware how out of character his last words were and that his father would catch on that sweet little fact – he hadn’t been elected sheriff four mandates in a row just for his good looks.

“Stiles… son… are you, do you like that man? Are you in love with him?” John gaped at him disbelievingly.

“What? No, no! I mean, what? What do you mean, in love? Like, like, I don’t know what you mean. No,” Stiles shook his head, twirling the spoon through his soggy cereal. “I don’t know. Maybe? I don’t know. And it is so irrelevant right now, because he was really, really shitty to me, Dad. Not to mention that he hates me, so. It’s a moot point.”

His father leaned his head onto his hand, sighing again. “Oh, boy. I wish your mother was alive. Things that matter… Son, I thought you hated him.”

“Well, no. I mean, he has so many issues, like, you wouldn’t even believe it, Dad. He doesn’t like his job, he hates his uncle, and all his family is dead and he just… he just doesn’t even know what he wants, Dad. I – I wanted him to tell me, but he didn’t. He didn’t. He… maybe he would have told me, if I hadn’t been so… stubborn. I don’t know. I can’t think about it.”

John tried to find his reason, to be a voice of reason for his son in the middle of his own fatherly freak out. “Then you change your tactics, you change your argument.”

“Are you… are you talking about the community center or Derek?”

But John just smiled. “You don’t give up. Son, as long as people can change, the world can change.”

“Yeah, but what if people can’t change? And are you talking about me… or Derek?”

“Well, let me put it this way. I’m sitting here, eating a piece of cheesecake made entirely of soy, and I hate it… but I’m eating it,” John said with a smile, shoving a piece of said cake into his mouth.

Stiles couldn’t help smiling as well.

 

_***How Scott and Stiles had an argument about feelings***_

 

Stiles felt much better a few days later, especially when he got himself a job at the Legal Aid office down at Baker Street, which was a small two-floor space, with only three computers and one copier.

Stiles loved that it was small, and that it was in his neighborhood so he knew most of the people who came to search for help, like Mrs. Munez, whose landlord was trying to evict her, or Mr. Adler, who needed a hip replacement and was trying to get on the hospital operation list as soon as possible -- a more than understandable fact considering he was 89.

He also loved that it was close to his apartment so he could walk to work every day and that he didn’t have to wear expensive suits; most importantly, that no one was afraid of him. They had a bunch of ridiculous requests, surely, like a woman who wanted to sue Starbucks for using too much ice, or a man who wanted to sue the local dry cleaning service for losing his pants.

But, at the end of the day, Stiles would usually feel pleasantly exhausted and not in as nearly much distress as he had been at his previous employment. Most of the cases were for the needy and nothing made Stiles feel more at peace with himself than helping people.

That evening after work, Stiles opened his apartment door to clearly upset Scott. “What the hell, Stiles! Your father tells me that you have feelings for that fucker.”

“Wha..”

Scott pushed past his best friend, fuming. “You know, I really wanted you to find someone, to fall in love; Kira and I rooted for that, we really did. But not like this, not with him! What is wrong with you? Are you insane? To, to fall in love with him? After everything? Jesus. I thought you were smarter than that.”

Stiles was really not in the mood. “Shut up, Scott. I’m not in love. It doesn’t fucking matter now. Setting aside the fact that my own father betrayed me by running his big mouth behind my back, and the fact that you have no idea what you’re talking about, it doesn’t fucking matter now. It’s history. It’s over. No – allow me to rephrase -- it isn’t over, because it never happened, _nothing_ happened, and it wouldn’t have happened in a million years, okay?”

Scott paced around the living room, biting his nails. “How long has it been since Danny, hm? Two years? Three? No one, not one single person grabbed your attention. And now him. Look… I’m sorry I yelled. I really want to know. What is it about him that you liked? Please.”

But Stiles was speechless. He really, really didn’t like talking about his emotions, mostly because he was never sure what they were, had never unambiguously identified them beyond any doubt and could state for a fact that yes, he felt this or that. He was an emotional relativist – but he did know for certain that there was a Derek-shaped space in his heart which he didn’t know how to describe.

Scott sat on the couch, and pulled his best friend down with him. “Come on, man. You know you can tell me.”

Stiles just shook his head, picking the invisible lint on his pajama bottoms. “Okay. Okay,” he relented. “But just bear with me because my thoughts are all over the place right now.”

Scott just nodded.

“I wasn’t even aware for the longest time… He… I can’t even tell you,” Stiles sighed heavily. “He is a genuinely good person. That was a big one for me. And nobody in this world knows that except for me… Nobody. Can you imagine that? Not even himself. He hates himself. Do you know how long he argued with Peter over the community center? His only family? He argued for me, for my ideals. Nobody ever has any expectations from him, you know; I don’t know which is worse, when people have too high expectations, like my father from me, or when no one has any expectations… Everybody always expects him to fail. Except for me. He made me a promise, and then he failed me, and I think that, I think that he hates himself even more now. I think that he said some things to me because he was angry with himself, not me.”

“You can’t know that for sure,” Scott said softly.

“Oh, I do know it. Nobody, not even my own father, has ever paid me that many compliments in my life. I’m not some self-conscious twat who doesn’t know left from right, Scott. He admired me. He looked up to me. He tried to live up to my expectations, and spectacularly failed. But you know what? Even though he handled things wrongly, and treated me wrongly sometimes, it doesn’t automatically make him a bad guy. Woo-hoo, he called me boring. I wouldn’t have been half as hurt if I hadn’t already been… you know. With feelings.”

“What about the community center?"

“Yeah, well… I tried. He tried. Maybe he could have tried harder. Do you know how much of his money he let me direct to charities? Eighteen million, Scott. In a year when I worked there. That’s three times the amount Hale Corporation gifted in the past decade. For me... And his constant calling, and checking things with me, I thought that _he_ was annoying and boring then… I chided him constantly… What I should have been was flattered. I should have realized that he was… reaching out to me… in a way. Wanting me to see a different Derek… a true Derek… God, I’m so stupid!” Stiles banged his head against the back of the couch.

“Hey!” Scott joked. “That’s my best bud you’re talking about!”

But Stiles didn’t laugh.

Scott remembered one more Derek-is-a-douchebag detail and raised his finger in punctuation: “And what about when he forbade every single company under the sun to hire you? What about that, huh? He basically made you unemployable. That’s bad, right?”

Stiles had to laugh at that. “Scott… he just wanted me to stay with him.”

Scott scratched his head. “So… all this time when we thought you were moping because he was a backstabbing bastard, you were really moping because…”

“Oh, there’s a list. Not necessarily in this order – because he broke his promise and insulted me, definitely, but he wasn’t a backstabbing bastard. He did try. Also, because of the community center, surely. But, also because I haven’t been honest with him, because I haven’t tried harder and talked with him more, because of my hurt ego, and hurt feelings, and not having admitted to said feelings… just, basically because I had my chance and I blew it. I was moping because I lost that chance…”

“You told John that he hates you.”

“He doesn’t hate me, Scott. He doesn’t. I was just being a wounded little hedgehog.”

“What a clusterfuck, buddy.”

“Not really,” Stiles shrugged his shoulder. “I’m never going to see him again in my life. Ancient history. Wanna shoot some zombies?”

So they shot zombies until midnight, when Kira called and reminded them both they had to get up at seven in the morning.

 

_***How Stiles got to hear Derek Hale’s best speech ever***_

 

Two days later, Stiles was preparing some forms for the Munez case at his desk when a familiar voice said “Hi” to him above his head.

It was Derek Hale, standing there in his luxury suit, like a usurper in the middle of their lackluster office.

Stiles looked left and right, trying to gauge if someone else besides him saw this supernatural apparition that was less possible than the Halley comet bursting through the door at that very moment. Judging by the stunned facial expressions on his coworkers and random clients, they saw him just fine.

Stiles bit his lip and tried not to roll his eyes at how ridiculous and out of place the man looked, and also because he truly and honestly thought he would never see him again. He wanted to laugh at his own pathetic predictive abilities.

Other occurrences, like the fire in his stomach at his appearance, were steadfastly ignored.

“Hi. I’m busy,” Stiles responded brusquely, because he really, really shouldn’t talk to the man. He had already filed away Derek Hale in the ancient history department. His life was back in order and he really didn’t need any Derek complications. All possible feelings were nipped in the bud. Nip-nip-nip.

“Yes. I see. Can we talk? Or I can talk; you don’t have to say a word. You can just listen.”

When Stiles ignored him and kept stacking his papers, unlike the rest of the office who stared unblinkingly at Derek’s truly beautiful form, the man continued: “I need your advice on one last thing…”

“Oh, my god. Really, Derek? That’s why you came?” Stiles couldn’t believe it. “I don’t work for you anymore, remember? Ask someone else for advice. What are you paying Lydia for?”

“Oh, no. This is a Stiles-only type of advice. Just listen to me, please, and then you’ll never hear from me again.” Derek cleared his throat. “You see, there’s this speech that I’ve written, and I think I may have blown it, so I wanted to ask your thoughts.”

Stiles closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He was upset because of Derek’s audacity, but then he tried to remember his own thoughts about being more flexible, more understanding, and more open… Most importantly, he tried to remember that there was always a reason why Derek sought him out.

Before he could even decide what he was going to do, Derek pulled out a paper from his pocket and started reading his speech, right there, in the middle of the Legal Aid office. Stiles could see Amy and Paula, his colleagues, looking at Derek with heart eyes and holding their hands under the desk.

“I’d like to welcome everyone on this special day,” Derek began ceremoniously. “Island Towers will bring glamour and prestige to the neighborhood and become part of Beacon Hills’ renaissance, and we're very pleased and proud to be here.”

Then his tone became less official. “Unfortunately, there is one fly in the ointment. You see, I gave my word to someone that we wouldn’t knock down this building behind me. Normally, and those who know me can attest to this, my word wouldn’t mean very much. So why does it this time?”

Derek looked around the office then, appraising his attentive audience. Everybody was listening. “Well, partly because this building is an architectural gem and deserves to be Iandmarked. Partly because people do need a place to do seniors’ water ballet and CPR, preferably not together.” People giggled at this.

Derek smiled, and continued. “But mainly because this person, despite being unusually stubborn and unwilling to compromise, and a very poor dresser, is...,” Derek dropped the paper then and looked Stiles directly in the eyes, his voice turning soft. “He's... rather like the building he loves so much -- a little rough around the edges, but when you look closely, absolutely beautiful; and the only one of his kind. And even though I've said cruel things and driven him away, he's become the voice in my head and I can't seem to drown him out. And I don't want to drown him out. So we are going to keep the community center because I gave my word to him and because we gave our word to the community.''

There was a collective gasp at the office.

“Derek,” Stiles choked out.

He could hear Amy and Paula sobbing behind his back, but Stiles didn’t want to cry, he didn’t. He was so happy, why on earth would he cry.

Derek spread his arms towards him in silence, and Stiles flung himself at Derek like a madman, clutching onto him like a monkey, hugging him within an inch of his life; Derek held him up like a ragdoll until Stiles’ feet didn’t touch the floor.

Was that applause they were hearing?

“What do you think?” Derek whispered into his right ear this time.

“You know how much I love your speeches,” Stiles chuckled.

“Can we go now? Can you leave?” Derek asked.

Before Stiles could even react, Paula started yelling: “Go, go! I can’t believe you’re still here! Live up to your potential!”

 

So they went outside. Derek was in his suit and Stiles wore his jeans with a jacket, and as soon as they left the office, they stopped and looked at each other. Should they hold hands? Were they together now? The whole speech delivery back in the office was pretty spectacularly romantic, but there weren’t any… declarations. What was going on? Stiles was clueless.

“Well, this is awkward,” Stiles laughed. “What are we doing?”

Derek smiled at him. “Can we go for a drink somewhere?”

Stiles nodded.

Derek took Stiles’ hand in his own, causing Stiles’ heart to falter, and Stiles really expected that they would just walk to the nearest cafe in silence, until they passed a bookstore and Derek pushed him in a little alcove on its side. He leaned Stiles gently against the wall and just looked at him, close and blinding.

It was Stiles who broke the silence first. “Derek, I just want to say thank you. I know I can be harsh and demanding…”

“No,” Derek whispered. “Stiles, I’m in love with you,” he said and kissed him.

It was their first kiss, Stiles’ brain unhelpfully provided. Derek was gentle, but Stiles pressed into him harder, bending his head, demanding, clumsy. Stiles pushed his arms inside Derek’s jacket, and held on for dear life. Derek enveloped him, one hand behind Stiles’ head and the other around his waist, squeezing. They were both panting.

“I’m in love with you, too,” Stiles whispered urgently once they stopped. “I want to try and change because I believe people can change. I can change and not be so demanding, and, like, meet you halfway, okay?”

Derek chuckled, letting out a relieved breath. He kissed Stiles again, and the drag of his tongue against Stiles’ made Stiles weak in the knees. He would fall if Derek didn’t hold him tightly. “We’ll talk; we’ll talk so much, Stiles. There are so many things I want to tell you. I missed you terribly, and I don’t know if I want you to change, I… just. I love you. I do. I can’t think about anything else.”

“Are you really not tearing down the community center?”

“Really.”

“But how?”

“So much money, baby. So much money.”

They kissed again, and Stiles breathed in the air leaving Derek’s lungs through his nose. It smelled great.

 

_***How Stiles broke his dry spell ***_

 

They didn’t want to tell anyone that they were together yet.

They were both very busy, Stiles with his new job and Derek with his new company that he was setting up, independently from Peter and all on his own. Only a few people were coming with him, like Greenberg and Jameson, and Derek also wanted Lydia, but her mysterious relationship with Peter was probably the reason she declined. Peter’s fiancée Jessica was apparently out of the picture.

“I think they’re having some kind of kinky stuff going on between them,” Derek told Stiles while they were spending their lunch break in the park. They shared their sandwiches and drinks. “I told her I didn’t want to know anything about it. I saw her once wearing his tie,” Derek said conspiratorially, like he was shocked. “I’ve never seen Peter that relaxed. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he is happy.”

 

That was how they spent their first days together, in parks and cafes, during lunch breaks and after work, walking, holding hands and kissing whenever they felt like it.

Derek never invited Stiles to his hotel suite, and Stiles never invited Derek to his apartment – until Friday, that was.

“Do we have to go for drinks? Why don’t you come to my place? Can you?”

Derek nosed down his neck, just breathing in and out all over it, tickling him with his lips and stubble.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Derek, I’m sure. I want you. I’ve never been surer about anything in my life.”

Derek chuckled again. “Lead the way.”

They walked the four blocks hand in hand, chatting and giggling like two schoolboys, drunk on happiness.

“Voilà,” Stiles gestured with a flourish when he opened the door. “Casa de Stilinski. Welcome!”

“Thanks.”

“Would you like something to drink?”

“Water’s fine, thank you."

 

"I can’t believe how small this apartment is,” Derek said, walking around inquisitively. “Look, I can walk from one side to the other in six seconds. Look! One… two…”

Stiles laughed. “You’re being ridiculous. Sit, relax.”

But Derek didn’t want to sit. He went to Stiles again, and kissed him for a long time. “I can’t stop,” he said when he emerged for air. “I just want you so much.”

Stiles leaned his head against Derek’s chest. “I need to take a shower. Will you wait for me?”

“You know,” Derek said instead of replying. “I liked you from the moment I saw you.”

“No,” Stiles chuckled. “When we met? You didn’t.”

“Oh, yes, I did.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“You were all like ‘Mr. Hale, I despise the very idea of you’ from the get-go. I just couldn’t. I didn’t want to. But then, I fell in love with you and… you know. It just became so much more.”

“Derek… I don’t want to let go, but I really need to take a shower.”

They cuddled some more, and then Derek pushed him towards the toilet. “Go, and I’ll look for your secret porn stash.”

 

In the shower, Stiles’ mind kept whirring. The prospects of having sex with Derek were pretty high - they were in the range of a hundred percent chances, really; and Stiles just didn’t know if he should tell Derek that he hadn’t slept with anyone in more than two years. He wasn’t a virgin, far from it, but he had never had a casual hookup and could only have sex with someone he was emotionally involved with. And that fact had never bothered him.

Stiles was never one of the people who had to have sex regularly; he always thought he wasn’t a very highly sexual person.

But he knew he wanted Derek. His dick was half-hard during his shower, even though he only touched it while he washed it.

He cleaned himself thoroughly and then found himself in a bit of a pickle. Does he go out naked? Wrapped in a towel? Fully dressed? This having a boyfriend thing was stressful.

There was a knock on the bathroom door. Stiles jumped a little.

“Stiles… Come on out. I can practically feel you freaking out in there.”

That was how Stiles’ choice had been pulled out of his hands. He grabbed the largest towel, wrapped it around himself and opened the door.

“Why are you freaking out?” Derek asked. “We don’t have to do anything.”

“No, I’m not,” Stiles said indignantly. “Maybe a little… I – it’s been a long time for me.”

Derek giggled. “Same here.”

“What?! But I thought…”

Derek dragged him into his arms. “I know what you thought. What everybody thinks. You were wrong. I just like to flirt.”

Derek cupped Stiles’ face in his hands and kissed him. He caressed his cheeks, and then his hands traveled down Stiles’ shoulders and arms, across his back, and his naked skin tingled with arousal.

“You’re so beautiful… You have phenomenal body. You know how many times your firm little ass drove me insane…” Derek pushed his hands under the towel and grabbed Stiles’ ass with both hands, squeezing it. The towel dropped.

“Oh, my god,” Stiles pushed his face into Derek’s chest. “Let’s go to the bedroom.”

It wasn’t fair. Stiles was completely naked and Derek was still fully dressed, but he placed Stiles gently on the bed and then stood up, undressing himself. Stiles watched him unashamedly, so distracted by the spectacle that he wasn’t even noticing his own vulnerable nudity against the white sheets.

Derek’s movements were unhurried and relaxed, even though he was obviously as hard as Stiles. The entire time they looked at each other.

Once the last item of clothing ended up on the floor, Derek paused.

Stiles called him, spreading his arms. “Come here.”

They kissed for a while, rolling around the bed, their hands frantic on each other's bodies, but their fully erect dicks demanded immediate action -- so without any pomp or ceremony, Derek knelt between Stiles’ legs and spread them wide open.

He smiled a little, kissed Stiles’ knee and got the lube from the bedside table.

Stiles was seconds from coming. Derek opened him up beautifully, and Stiles just leaned further into the pillows and panted. He held his own legs behind the knees, keeping himself spread, and stared at Derek’s ripped torso and dripping dick.

That was how they fucked that first time, with Stiles on his back and Derek between his legs, wordless and gasping with every thrust of his hips. Derek kissed him the entire time, bracing him with his strong arms, fucking into him with gusto. The air between them was warm and wet, and Stiles was a little dizzy.

He started moaning loudly pretty early on, but he couldn’t restrain himself. Derek didn’t seem to mind, judging by his own grunts and groans.

They came almost simultaneously, Derek grinning victoriously when Stiles exploded all over his stomach and emptying himself inside Stiles after only a couple of deep thrusts.

Stiles turned onto his side and hugged him as soon as Derek collapsed next to him.

Derek laughed, and cradled him in his arms. He kissed Stiles’ cheeks, his eyelids, his nose. “Hey… Are you okay?”

“Me okay,” Stiles nodded lightly, burrowing himself into Derek’s chest.

He was more than okay. He didn’t even know sex could be like this, just a simple feel-good experience, pleasurable and sensuous, that you shared with someone you loved, without any pretense or posturing. With Derek, it felt natural and enjoyable. Derek’s dick felt amazing inside of him from the first to the last thrust. Stiles was getting hard again just thinking about it.

“Derek…”

“Hm?”

“I’m really happy.”

Derek chuckled and lifted Stiles’ head towards his. He kissed him for a millionth time, languorously, sweetly, and Stiles melted in his arms.

“I love you,” Derek said. He caressed Stiles’ cheek, ran his hands through his hair. “You have stubble burn.”

“I don’t care,” Stiles stretched in Derek’s arms. “Can you stay?”

“Of course. We’ll sleep here tonight. We’ll talk more in the morning, while you cook my breakfast.”

“Oh, yeah?” Stiles punched him in the shoulder and Derek laughed and jumped over him; the whole thing turned into a wrestling match of kicking knees and pointy elbows, joined laughter, and soon enough, two hard dicks.

 

_***How Derek and Stiles told John***_

 

On Sunday, Stiles hadn’t told anything to his dad before their brunch at the community center. He simply showed up there with Derek.

John just sat there, blinking at them, moving his head between Stiles and Derek like he was watching a tennis match. The fact that Derek was wearing his jeans and that he had showed up on his and Stiles’ traditional family meal seemed to have thrown him for a loop. “Mr. Hale. Derek.”

“Good morning, John.”

Stiles signaled Derek to take a seat, and both men sat down opposite John.

“Stiles, what’s going on?” his father asked.

“Dad, Derek and I are together. I wanted to tell you that, and I wanted you to meet him as my boyfriend, so we came here.”

“Ah,” John cleaned himself with a napkin, and cleared his throat. “I see you’ve managed to resolve your… misunderstandings. Congratulations! I’m really happy for you.”

Both Derek and Stiles smiled and said “Thanks” in unison.

“I wanted to thank you for the community center, Derek. I don’t know how you managed to pull it off, but, thank you anyway. Assemblyman Perez called to tell me that the whole thing was stopped and that you were behind it.”

Derek helped himself to some omelet. “Well, first I resigned my job. Then I signed off the entire Hale Corporation to Peter, with the proviso that I should become the sole owner and CEO of the Hale Realty company. Then I wrote a check on twenty-five million and gave it to Peter. That was the estimate cost of the Island Tower deal. Then I called Perez.”

John just stared at him, his unchewed food balled up under his cheek, making him look like a chipmunk.

“Why did you do that?” he asked disbelievingly.

“Because of Stiles. I’m poor now. We’ll have to share the helicopter with another family,” Derek answered.

“Wow.” John raised his eyebrows, stunned. “I really wanted to give you the whole ‘If you hurt my son, I will hunt you down and feed you to the lions’ speech, but now I feel like it would be kind of… rude.”

“Oh, no! It’s fine. I completely agree, with the lions, and the hunting down… thing. I get it. I’ll do it myself if I hurt him. I just wish I can promise you that. I will do my best, John. I love him. I’ve never loved anyone before like this. I will do my best.”

Stiles smirked at that, pleased.

John seemed pleased, too. “You have to come to my place, too. Officially. We can have dinner. Sometime next week.”

“We will, Dad,” Stiles said. “We’re kind of busy. We’re house hunting.”

“You’re house hunting? What do you mean?”

“Well, you know how Derek lives in the Grand hotel,” Stiles leaned back, satisfied with the amount of food he devoured. “He kind of doesn’t want to anymore? So I’m helping him find a house to buy.”

Derek nibbled on his cheese, unperturbed.

“You’re helping him like… like a lawyer, or like… you’re moving in together kind of way?”

“Dad!” Stiles blushed. “Really, Dad. You’re embarrassing me. We haven’t talked about that. He hasn’t asked.”

“Yet,” Derek unhelpfully provided. “I haven’t asked yet.”

“Oh, my god! What’s the matter with you two? Can you just stop talking? I’m going to leave, you know I will,” Stiles flailed and huffed.

This time, it was John and Derek that laughed in unison.

 

_***How Stiles and Derek learned their deck needed resealing***_

 

A few months later, they closed the deal on a beautiful house on the outskirts of the city, back towards the end of the Preserve.

It was a fixer-upper, but they agreed that it was too good to pass. That would give them an opportunity to fix it according to their tastes.

It turned out that Derek didn’t have any because he’d spent too much time living in a hotel, so he was pretty resolved to leave everything up to Stiles.

But, as the time went on, and as they spent their days in the house, his memories swam to surface; the memories of his parents and siblings, living together in a house not unlike this one, of huge living room couches and big family dinners, open spaces and large windows facing the woods.

Each fresh memory translated into a new feature or detail in their house, and Stiles watched in fascination how decorating their living space somehow turned into cathartic experience for Derek.

 

Derek had asked Stiles to move in with him before they even found the house, maybe only a few days after their brunch with John.

“You do know I’m looking for the house just because of you. It would be so stupid if you left me high and dry now.”

 

When they first came to see it, they looked at each other and they knew immediately.

“Lydia said she can get us the contracts first thing in the morning. She said we could meet her back here, if we wanted.”

“Back here?” Stiles asked. “You mean we’re not staying here tonight?”

Derek stared at Stiles, puzzled.

“No,” he said. “Where would we sleep? We have no beds. Or food. Or plates on which to eat food,” Derek added.

“Oh,” Stiles said, disappointed.

“Christ, you’re spoiled,” Derek said, snorting. “We’ll stay here if you want. We can order pizza or something. Exactly where will we sleep, though?” he asked, dubious.

“Where is your sense of adventure, Derek Hale?” Stiles asked, giggling. “We can have a slumber party on the floor!”

“With no blankets? Did you not notice that the whole house is tile or hardwood?” Derek looked at Stiles for help, but he was too amused to be any assistance. “Okay, so pizza and blankets. I saw a Target a few miles back. It could be fun.”

“Come on, Princess,” Stiles teased him. “Give up your big comfortable bed for one night and spend the night with me. The first night in our new house.”

Stiles knew Derek wouldn’t be able to resist his puppy-dog eyes, and seconds later, Derek’s shoulders drooped. “Alright. But we’re doing this my way. We’re going to need wine. No, champagne. Let’s make it a celebration.”

 

But before they even managed to go out, while they were still roaming the house, Derek took Stiles’ hand and pulled him, without finesse, through the house to the deck in the back. Stiles raised an eyebrow in question, and Derek purred, “Did you notice we’re out here all alone? No one for miles.”

Stiles knew exactly what he was getting at, and the thought made him so hard that he had to reach down and palm his dick through his jeans. Then he did the same for Derek.

When Derek moaned loudly, holding nothing back here in the wilderness, Stiles nearly lost his mind. He started to sink to his knees.

“No,” Derek said, grabbing him and pulling him back up. “Me first,” he murmured against Stiles’ neck.

Then Derek was on his knees, tugging down the zipper of his jeans, and Stiles leaned back against the railing, grappling for some kind of balance.

Up here in the hills, in the early spring day, the air was just chilly enough to have a bite. But Derek nearly swallowed him, taking as much of Stiles as he could into his mouth, and the wet heat was such a startling contrast to the cool air that it overwhelmed him and he had to push Derek back gently, begging, “Too good. Jesus fuck. Slower.”

So Derek took his time, swallowing Stiles again and again, bringing Stiles closer to the edge bit by bit. Stiles could do nothing but hold on to the rail for the support his legs could no longer provide.

“Derek,” Stiles warned, hips jerking to meet Derek’s mouth. “I'm…”

“Not yet,” Derek said, catching his breath. “I need you.”

Derek pulled at Stiles’ jeans, tugging them over his thighs and knees, down to the wood of the deck. Then he sucked a few of Stiles’ fingers into his mouth, getting them wet.

Stiles didn’t need to be told what to do with those. He sank down to Derek’s level, lying on his back and spreading his legs wide to give Derek a good view.

“Fuck,” Derek whispered, eyes on Stiles’ fingers as he pushed them inside himself, scissoring, getting himself ready.

Derek pulled off his own clothes, his gaze never straying from Stiles’ hand, and when he was naked, he crawled forward and dropped down, pressing his mouth against Stiles’ hole. He licked and lapped around Stiles’ fingers, and Stiles moaned, arching up to meet Derek’s mouth. “Shit. Stiles, I can’t wait—”

Derek licked at Stiles one more time, pushing his tongue deep inside for good measure, then he crawled up Stiles’ body and gripped one of Stiles’ hands in his before pushing inside him.

Stiles arched and the sound of Derek’s name carried down the hillside.

They paused, listening as the sound died out and it was quiet again.

“Gonna take some effort to get noticed out here,” Derek said, pushing further into Stiles.

Stiles lifted himself up, meeting Derek’s hips, his laugh breathless. “Up for the challenge?”

Derek pulled out, then sank back inside Stiles again. “You have to ask?”

Stiles moaned – a broken, frustrated sound that came back to them this time, echoing off a distant hill. He smiled, his eyes fluttering shut.

Even miles away, the nearest neighbors had to have heard what came next. Moaning, pleading, curses, orders, begging, all in tones of escalating desperation and volume, until with one last strong, deep thrust, they both went over the edge.

Derek collapsed on top of Stiles and said, “Ouch” in a voice that was hoarse and abused.

Derek sat back, revealing skinned knees from the deck’s hard wood.

Stiles covered his mouth, trying to contain a laugh. “That looks a lot worse than stubble burn.”

“Yeah. Didn’t notice it so much while it was happening…” Derek said, starting to laugh himself. “Hurts like hell now.”

Stiles let his laughter escape. “Oh my god. You need Neosporin or something. Rubbing alcohol maybe. Don’t want that infected. It’s gross enough already.”

“I’m so glad you find this amusing,” Derek said, still laughing too. He picked up Stiles’ clothes and threw them at him. “Get dressed. We’ll drop buy the drugstore, too.”

Inside the house, Derek disappeared into the bathroom to clean his wounds. Stiles joined him there.

Derek was sitting on the toilet seat in his boxer-briefs, picking what looked to be like splinters out of his knees.

“I hope I was worth it,” Stiles said.

“Hell yes, you were. I’d go back out there and do it again if you’d let me.”

Stiles shook his head at Derek and knelt in front of him, shooing Derek’s hands away. He started to tweeze out a little splinter with his fingernails.

“Water’s on, but the electric’s not,” Derek said through gritted teeth as Stiles pulled the splinter out.

“Weird. We can get candles.”

“There’s a great fireplace in the living room,” Derek said, his tone suggestive.

Stiles smiled and started on another splinter. Derek gripped the side of the toilet with white knuckles.

 

They said nothing more, but Stiles noticed the way Derek was smiling – satisfied and content.

“We should probably think about resealing that deck before summer.”

“Needs some sanding,” Derek said, then bit his lip as laughter threatened to bubble over.

“Maybe some foam cushions, too,” Stiles said, and that was it, the two of them lost it, holding onto their sides and anything around them as they let their laughter loose.

When they finally got a grip, Derek stood, running a hand over Stiles’ handiwork with the bandages, and then stepped into his jeans. The tight boxer-briefs left nothing to the imagination.

“Love you,” Derek murmured, and kissed up Stiles’ shoulder to his neck, then to his cheek.

 

They slept on a pile of eight blankets that night, in front of the fireplace, surrounded with pizza boxes, ice cream tubs and two empty bottles of the finest champagne.

 

They woke to the early morning sun coming in through all the windows of the house, unused to all the bright, natural light. Stiles’ head was on Derek’s chest, and he was still curled around him completely. His hand rested on Derek’s stomach, open and spread, as if trying to touch as much skin as possible. Derek’s arm was no longer around his shoulders but draped behind his head, his fingers tangled in Stiles’ hair. Stiles didn’t know where he ended and Derek began.

 

THE END


End file.
